The will to win
by WobblyJelly
Summary: "You will learn that there is no higher honor than getting your rightful place on that throne, when you have coated the floor with blood and have all your enemies' heads lined up before you as your trophies." Oneshot.


**A/N: First Hunger Games story.**

**Please be nice.**

**Disclaimer: I would have thrown Bella Swan into the arena if I owned the Hunger Games.**

* * *

_For the sake of the heart, destroy it._

.

When one is born, they are given a family, a home, love, warmth, affection, happiness, a secure and merry life.

When I was born, I was taught to kill.

A tribute to the games, that's all they told me. You will win the games and bring back your District the honor it deserves.

That was what they told me everyday, enforced onto me, pounded into my head, letting it echo in my mind like a never-ending mantra. The games. _The games. _THE GAMES.

You will learn to hide.

You will learn to fight.

You will learn to kill.

You will learn to survive_._

You will learn that there is no higher honor than getting your rightful place on that throne, when you have coated the floor with blood and have all your enemies' heads lined up before you as your trophies.

You will learn to _win._

Repeat. Repeat. Repeat.

And so I learned.

I learned basic English. I learned basic math. I learned to walk, talk, eat, sit, dress appropriately, to be a normal person.

I learned how to use a knife in fifty different ways at close range, how to aim a knife at your target's eyes ten meters away. I learned how to kill people in twenty-six different ways and make it seem natural. I learned how to snap off people's heads when without an arrow. I learned how to make my own weapons using a rock and a twig. I learned the fastest and the slowest, most painful ways to let a person die.

I learned and learned. I learned until my brain rot, learned until my eyes wanted to gauge themselves out. I learned until the only thing left intact on my mind was my will to kill, my will to survive.

Because, at the end of the day, it wasn't the heart that mattered, it was games.

.

At age seven, children are on their way to school, making new friends, fretting over upcoming tests, learning all sorts of things about this world we live in, inputting knowledge into their mind non-stop.

At age seven, I killed my first man.

A practice test, that was all there was to it.

I had been thought to kill, of course. My seven years of life had been molded to do so. But it was the first time I had ever got blood stain my flesh.

Blood caressed the floor.

Splattered onto the walls.

Stained my iron blade.

Sprayed onto my clothes.

Maybe a little tidier, was all they said.

I killed a man, I had said. I killed a man and he's dead because of me.

And so will many more to come, they told me.

I did not cry. I couldn't cry.

I was taught to fight. To kill. To survive.

I was never taught how to cry.

I stared at the pool of red, glistening in the moonlight.

I looked at the man's ugly face.

And then I walked away without a second glance.

.

_And then the tears spill out anyway._

.

At age eight, children receive education. They learn new things like science, history, language. They play, they laugh, they cry, and they are happy.

At age eight, I learned what a mother was.

The kids my age were always talking about it. A person who takes care of you, cares for you with every fiber in her being, showers you with love and affection.

Love? What is that?

Mother? Who is that?

She sounds like a monster.

But she loves you.

But I don't know what love is.

What is all of this?

What's a father, I asked. What is he and why does he sound like he's related to 'mother'.

The reason you exist, they said. The reason you're here.

Then where are they? I asked. Why aren't they here with me? Don't they want to shower me with 'love' and 'affection' too?

Stupid questions, they would say. Useless thoughts, they would say.

What's a family? I persisted. What's a home? Does it love and care for you too?

Useless, they would say. Pathetic, they would say. Love and affection won't help you survive.

That was all I learned.

I kept my mind blank.

But they would come crawling in.

I shoved them away.

They pushed themselves back in.

I stabbed them with a knife.

They ripped out my heart.

Pointless thoughts, I told myself. Incompetent, meaningless, _useless_ thoughts, I told myself. Just fight and win, I told myself.

And so I did.

.

_Mommy, where are you?_

_Daddy, did you love me?_

_I couldn't help but wonder._

_._

At age thirteen, the time of judgement has finally come.

Children are lining up.

Putting in their names.

Quaking in fear.

_Mommy, I'm scared._

_It's okay, sweetie. Everything's going to be alright._

At age thirteen, children are finally allowed to enter their names for the Hunger Games. A fight to the death, a game of honor, a game to see the last man standing.

At age thirteen, I volunteer to take their place.

I call out with a loud voice, a clear and strong one. One that gives people hope. One that isn't mine.

"I volunteer for the games."

_You will learn to fight. You will learn to kill. _

I step up onto the stage, my head held high, like a shining beacon of hope. I watch as the audience claims me as their hero.

I stare at the crowd, bracing myself for what I've been training for my entire life.

What I have given up my life for.

_You will learn that there is no higher honor than getting your rightful place on that throne, when you have coated the floor with blood and have all your enemies' heads lined up before you as your trophies._

I will bring them back victory, I promise. I will bring them back honor. I will bring them back glory.

I will sacrifice everything for them, I promise.

My family.

My parents.

My innocence.

My purity.

My life.

I will sacrifice all for them, win for them, I promise.

_You will learn to survive._

And now, standing upon this stage, with the thousand cheers of the happy people who will for my demise, and the soulless body of my next victim standing beside me basking himself in the glory, I sacrifice my last ounce of freedom.

"Happy Hunger Games, and may the odds be _ever _in your favor!"

It's because of everything I had to give.

It's because of everything I had to lose.

It's because of everything I had to take.

It's because of this, that I use my last breath of freedom to promise myself.

I will win the Hunger Games.

. _  
_

_You will learn to _win.

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**A/N: And once again, I was stuck at the end.**

**This has been hiding in my files for a while. Wrote half of this during an exam. Brain logic.**

**This could really be anyone. While writing this, I pictured those tributes from District One or Two that are trained their whole life for this. This is just a more...bitter take on this.**

**Boy or girl? Your choice.**

**Reviews are nice.**


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